


B-side

by blainedarling



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Zayn, Hate to Love, M/M, Music Store, OT5 Friendship, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Zayn-centric, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blainedarling/pseuds/blainedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone loves Harry—but, to Zayn, Harry is six foot of infuriating, who spends his time pottering around Craze Records and stealing Zayn's flying saucers. (Or, the record store AU where Zayn's too proud to realise that the only reason he finds Harry so annoying is because he fancies the pants off him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	B-side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liquidmeasure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidmeasure/gifts).



> For the non-Brits reading this, I should probably just give you a little heads up... A flying saucer is a kind of sweet: a UFO shape made from coloured rice paper and filled with sherbet. Got it? Cool, okay, let's go...

You might not notice, were you to walk past. Certainly not the first time, and maybe not even the second, third, or fourth time. The paintwork’s a little chipped; just enough that it blends into its neighbours, chameleon-like, between a Holland & Barrett and a shoe shop. There it sits, Craze Records, just before St Ann’s Street intersects with Deansgate.

 

But once you notice, you’ll probably go inside. You’ll be charmed by the sun-faded posters in the windows and the thrum of the music that comes from inside. And once you’re inside, you’ll most certainly be charmed by Zayn. Zayn, with long dark hair that curls around his ears, and his battered denim jacket with the hole in one elbow.

 

It’s why Zayn’s basically in charge, even though he’s not _really_ in charge. Technically, Louis is in charge, given that he owns the place. But, for Louis, being in charge means spreadsheets and ledgers and putting his joint honours in Business and Accounting to good use. Louis doesn’t do customers. If he did, they wouldn’t have any.

 

That’s why he hired Zayn. Zayn, who came in to interview for a three-day-a-week type gig, had one trial day, and sold more in three hours than Louis had all week. So, Zayn’s kind of in charge. He comes in four, sometimes five, days out of the week; he oversees the two part-timers, Niall and Jen; and he has a set of keys, even though Louis’ usually in and around the building as late as he is, if not later.

 

Zayn likes his job. It pays well; he gets to listen to and be around music all day; the ratio of irritating to pleasant customers is nicely tipped towards the latter; and he still has enough time and energy to keep plugging away at the collection of poems he’s been writing since he graduated. And, Louis provides him with a constant supply of flying saucers, in a big tub that sits behind the counter.

 

It’s barely gone ten and he can still taste the minty toothpaste against his teeth but Zayn snags a flying saucer all the same. He pops it into his mouth whole and bites down. The sherbet sizzles against his tongue. He hums, content, and grabs yesterday’s _Guardian._ He leans back against the counter and opens it up to the review section first.

 

“Zayn.”

 

Zayn flicks the top of the paper out of his face. “What are you doing here?” He frowns. “You’re not working today.”

 

Jen looks sheepish. She hitches her rucksack over her shoulder and tucks a strand of bleached blonde hair behind one ear. “Came in to talk to Louis, actually.” She takes a breath and then shrugs a shoulder. “Handed in my notice.”

 

Zayn puts down the paper. “Well, shit.” He laughs and steps forward to give her a hug. “No need to look so scared, love.” He steps back. “Onto bigger and brighter things?”

 

“Something like that.” She grins. “Remember that au pairing job in Switzerland I told you about a while back?”

 

Zayn nods.

 

“I got it.”

 

Zayn’s smile deepens. “I’m happy for you. When’s your last day, then?”

 

“Week on Saturday.”

 

Zayn rubs his palms together. “Pints a week on Saturday, then.” He pauses and his face falls. “Hmm.”

 

Jen cocks her head. “You alright?”

 

“Just realised something, just now.” Zayn sighs. “I’m going to have to hire someone new.”

 

Jen shrugs. “Make Louis do it.”

 

Zayn stares at her.

 

“On second thoughts, you’d best do it.”

 

***

 

Zayn’s good with people. He wasn’t always. He used to be shy and awkward and would clamp his mouth shut if he was even the slightest bit uncomfortable. But as he got past his teenage years and got out of Bradford and to Manchester, to university, he found himself growing more and more comfortable in his own skin. More likely to smile at someone who held the door for him or whisper a comment to the pretty girl crammed in next to him on the Magic bus about how bad the guy next to them smells.

 

It’s what makes him good at his job. Everyone _loves_ Niall, with his easy charm and infallible spirit. But it’s Zayn that takes fifteen minutes with someone to explain why electroswing is a legitimate genre and that no, it’s not worth buying Justin Bieber on vinyl. It’s Zayn that has his little fan club of seventeen-year-old girls, headed up by a tall, leggy brunette called Megan, who come past most Saturdays and sometimes on Thursday afternoons, still in their school blazers and ties. Niall’s the one that calls them that, Zayn’s Fan Club, and teases him for why they come round to Craze so often. Yet, they still never leave without making at least one purchase between them.

 

So, yeah, it’s Zayn that should probably do the hiring. Except Zayn’s got holiday days booked off so that he can visit his elder sister and her fiancé in London and they’ll need someone ready to take over when Jen leaves.

 

Which is why when Zayn comes back from his holidays in time to work Jen’s last day and follow their little gang out to The Great Bear, their local, round the corner, he has absolutely no idea who their new employee is.

 

“You’re going to love him,” Louis assures him as they push into the crowded pub. “He’s a student. Last year of a Linguistics degree at MMU, very into music, needs the extra cash. Good kid.” Louis nods. “You’re going to love him,” he repeats.

 

Zayn purses his lips. He wants to ask a million questions—he doesn’t like not knowing everything about the new guy. Not when _he’s_ the one that will be working alongside him most days. He wants to know what kind of personality he has, how he moves, how he talks. Is he organised? Is he reliable? Is he going to panic when Zayn steps outside for a smoke break in the middle of the afternoon and leaves him alone with the customers?

 

The Great Bear is packed, which isn’t unusual for a Friday. Just to the left of the bar is a small booth with a piece of paper tacked to it, marked _Reserved._ Louis must have called ahead, to let Liam know they were coming.

 

“Evening, lads!” Liam calls out to them as they pass. He finishes pulling a pint and shakes the foam overspill off his hand. “And lady of the hour, of course.” He nods to the table. “I’ll be over with your drinks in a sec.”

 

Zayn nods his thanks and slips into the booth. He sighs and wriggles his toes in his boots. It was a slow day: a trickle of customers over the course of the early afternoon, barely enough to keep the three of them busy. Jen’s last day, and it was so uneventful that Zayn had asked her to clean up the staff room before they closed, wincing even as he said it to her.

 

Jen doesn’t seem bothered; certainly not now as Liam sets a gin and tonic down in front of her, a slice of lime bobbing on the surface. The rest of them get pints. If Zayn’s lucky, it won’t get any stronger than that. But Louis’ here which probably means that he’ll be retching tequila from the pit of his stomach by midnight.

 

Louis bumps Zayn’s shoulder with his own. “Hey, so. Don’t be a dick, alright?”

 

Zayn blinks and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why would I be a dick?”

 

Louis sighs, long-sufferingly. Anytime Louis gets that expression on his face, Zayn likes to remind Louis that he had decided Zayn was going to be his friend before Zayn had agreed. It’s the expression that reads that he would rather beat his own head against the table than deal with Zayn right now. Typically, it’s reserved for when Zayn bails on a lads’ night for whatever girl or boy he’s currently hooked on, or if Zayn steals the last cigarette from the packet stashed in the cupboard above the kettle in the staff room.

 

Zayn hasn’t seen that look in a while. He’s been single for the longest stretch of time since sixth form and he’s even remembered to buy his own cigarettes before he gets to work recently. He’s not sure what he did but it feels undeserved.

 

“I invited Harry along tonight.” Louis takes a sip of his beer. “The new kid.”

 

Zayn grunts and rolls his eyes. “You want to talk about not being a dick? Bit rude, isn’t it? We’re here for Jen’s last night not this kid’s first.”

 

“What did I say?” Louis warns. “I want us all to start to get to know him, in a casual setting. Particularly Niall and you. Well.” Louis glances at Niall, who’s already two thirds of the way through his first pint which has left his cheeks with a rosy glow. “Mostly you. Niall’s good with people.”

 

“ _I’m_ good with people,” Zayn protests through gritted teeth. “I’m a real sweetheart.”

 

“You’re a peach,” Louis agrees. “When you want to be. I don’t know where the chip on your shoulder about this guy has come from but it’s not a good look on you.”

 

“What’s not a good look on Zayn?” Liam leans over the back of their booth. A stray strand of hair falls in front of his face and he blows a stream of air upwards to try and move it out of the way. He’s got a dishcloth hooked over his shoulder that smells like beer.

 

“Jealousy.”

 

Zayn cries out, indignant. “I am not jealous! Of some uni kid I haven’t even met? What the fuck, Louis?”

 

Louis chortles. “Nah, not really jealousy,” he tells Liam. “I just like winding him up.” He clasps a hand around Zayn’s shoulder. “Listen, whatever it is. Be nice to him. He looks like the type that might cry if someone like you is mean to him.”

 

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Louis sighs and looks up at Liam exasperatedly. _You see what I have to put up with?_

 

“Someone so aesthetically pleasing,” Liam offers. “Such chiseled features. Such big, brown eyes and long eyelashes and—”

 

Louis cuts him off sharply. “Alright, Liam, we get the idea.”

 

Jen sniggers into the rim of her glass. She shoots Zayn an exaggerated wink and Zayn flips her his middle finger.

 

Louis looks at Zayn. “You’re hot. He’s probably going to want you to like him. If you don’t like him, he’ll be sad.” He takes a long gulp of his beer.

 

Zayn drums his fingers off the table in some sense of a rhythm. “I think you’re making a bigger deal of this than you need to. He’s probably straight and all.”

 

Liam hums. “Just because he’s straight doesn’t mean he won’t want you to like him anyway,” he says just as Louis mumbles into the rim of his glass: “He’s not straight”.

 

Zayn stares at him. “How could you _possibly_ know that? I swear to god, Louis, that better not have been a fucking interview question,” he hisses. “Did you follow the outline I left?” Zayn drops his face into his hands. “We’re going to get sued. I’m going to be mean to him and we’re going to get taken to court because I’ve been mean and because you harassed him at the interview.”

 

Louis smacks him over the back of the head. “Would you calm down? It’s on the equal opportunities form— _which I don’t agree with_ , but.” He splays his hands wide. “Legally, I have to give it to him to fill in. It says at the top, in big bold letters, that he can fill in as much or as little as he wants to.” He clears his throat. “He ticked the bisexual box with a big, flamboyant tick.”

 

“That’s offensive,” Zayn points out.

 

“I was joking, obviously. The point is—”

 

The table rocks suddenly as someone slams into the side of it. Beer spills over Zayn’s fist and onto the table.

 

“Sorry, so sorry!” A tall, lanky boy with a frankly ridiculous amount of hair pats his hands aimlessly over the small table. His long brown curls fall into his face and he scrapes them back with big hands. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I was looking for— Oh!”

 

“Hiya, Harry,” Louis says calmly and downs the rest of his drink before any more of it can go flying. “Harry, this is Jen, Niall, Liam, and Zayn. Everyone, this is Harry.”

 

“Hi everyone.” Harry waves and sinks down into the only spare spot in the booth, next to Zayn.

 

“Beer, Harry? Or something else?” Liam asks and straightens up.

 

“Could I get a vodka lemonade?”

 

Zayn raises his eyebrows at Louis. “He’s practically a _child_ ,” he hisses.

 

Louis pinches his thigh under the table. “Play nice,” he mutters.

 

“Oh, and get everyone another—on me. For the whole bumping-the-table thing.” Harry grins sheepishly.

 

Niall beams. “Harry, you and I are going to get along just fine.”

 

Zayn huffs under his breath. “For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles into his glass and knocks what’s left back.

 

Across the table, sJen cocks her head. “You okay?” She mouths.

 

Zayn nods once and then ducks his gaze. He stares into the bottom of his empty pint glass.

 

“Zayn, right?” Harry’s eyes are soft and warm and he’s got a really deep dimple in his cheek when he smiles.

 

“Can I get out please?” Zayn says. “I need a cigarette.”

 

Louis doesn’t follow him outside, but Liam does.

 

Zayn sighs out a cloud of smoke into the air above his head. “Don’t start.”

 

Liam purses his lips. “Give him a chance. I’m sure you thought Louis was a right arse when you first met him, and look at you now.”

 

“That hasn’t changed. I still think he’s a right arse.”

 

“You’re such a stubborn git, you know that?”

 

Zayn flashes his a cheeky grin. “Did you think that when you first met me, too?”

 

The door slams shut behind Liam as he heads back into the bar. Zayn finishes his cigarette in silence, his back pressed against the wall to avoid the staggers of hen parties and guys out on the pull and reeking of cologne.

 

Zayn needs time, with new people. He needs time to make his own mind up, especially when they’re coming into what is essentially _his_ space. He’s not like Niall, who can take one look at someone and declare them a best friend for life. And he’s not going to pretend, either. And if Harry gets upset over it, then that’s on Harry, not on him.

 

Zayn stubs out the cigarette into the metal tray bolted to the wall and wipes his hands off on the seat of his jeans. He pushes past the crush by the bar, in the direction of their booth. Harry has pushed into his space, right beside Louis, his head thrown back in laughter, his hands around what was a vodka lemonade.

 

It’s Zayn who ends up ordering tequila shots, a tray of them for the table, which he plonks down before he slings himself onto the spare stool so he doesn’t have to sit next to Harry.

 

“You trying to get us drunk, Zed?” Jen asks. Her eyes twinkle as she reaches over and slinks an arm around his shoulders. “Aw. I’m gonna miss you, you know?”

 

Zayn smiles and pushes his face into her shoulder. He always liked Jen, from the start. She felt comfortable to him—like a sister. “Gonna miss you, too, you fucker. Send me a postcard.”

 

Jen laughs and smacks a kiss to the top of his head.

 

“You got two shots too many,” Harry says. He counts the shots again. “You got seven shots but there’s five of us.”

 

Zayn picks up two and sets them in front of Jen. “The deserter gets two,” he explains and ignores her squawk. “And the new kid gets two.” He puts two in front of Harry. “Thems the rules.”

 

Harry looks a little wary. “Got any limes?”

 

Louis stares Zayn down when he tries to pull a face.

 

Zayn smiles at Harry sweetly. “I’ll be right back.”

 

*

 

Zayn’s first impressions of Harry were dead-on. That much is clear by closing, as he and Louis between them haul Harry up to his feet. Niall and Jen have gone ahead to get a cab since they live down the same end of town, while Louis and Zayn are left to try and figure out where Harry even lives.

 

“He’s not coming home with me,” Zayn hisses at Louis over the top of Harry’s head. “He can sleep on the street for all I care, he is _not_ coming to mine.”

 

“Stop bitching, we’ll get him home,” Louis mumbles and hitches Harry up. “C’mon, mate. One foot in front of the other. There we go.”

 

“Mmmsodrunk,” Harry slurs, the words further muffled by his head drooping in front of his face.

 

“Yeah, mate. Reckon that last tequila shot might have been one too far, huh?” Louis coos sympathetically.

 

Louis is _never_ sympathetic when Zayn’s drunk. He likes to laugh really loudly in his face and then blast heavy metal at 9am the next morning when he gets into work feeling like he wants to die in a black hole, alone.

 

Zayn scowls at Louis. “Maybe the last _four._ ”

 

“You started it.”

 

“I gave him two! The rest are on him!” Zayn pauses. “ _And_ you. You were the one encouraging the…the _dancing._ ”

 

Zayn wants more than anything to scrub his brain clean of the image of Harry dancing, drunk and gone, arms flailed wide and his shirt billowing around him, in between the tables. The sheen to his cheeks and the cut of his hips when his shirt rose up and exposed the ink on his tummy.

 

Zayn swallows and hitches up his jeans. He’s a little drunk. That’s all. He’s drunk and it’s been a while and if his life didn’t suck he would be at home by now with one hand lazily wrapped around his dick and all memories of Harry wiped clean from his mind.

 

“Can’t you just take him?” Zayn whines and tries to shift Harry’s weight onto Louis.

 

Louis cries out and grabs hold of his waist. “Don’t you dare! I’ll _buckle._ ”

 

“You two going to be alright with him?” Liam asks as he holds the door for them, the keys looped around his index finger.

 

“Yes,” Louis says at the same time as Zayn says “no”.

 

Liam looks between them and then his face breaks into a wide, beaming smile. “Team bonding! Great stuff, lads. Get home safe and I’ll see you soon.”

 

Zayn makes a point of grumbling at Liam as they walk past. Once outside, he and Louis manoeuvre Harry to sit on the edge of the curb.

 

“Right.” Zayn heaves a sigh and bends over with his hands rested on his thighs. He straightens up and runs a hand through his hair. “What’s the plan here?”

 

“I don’t know,” Louis says and fishes a cigarette out of his jacket pocket.

 

Zayn balls his hands into fists at his sides. He takes a breath and releases it slowly. He crouches down next to Harry and cups his face in his hands, forcing him to focus. “Harry.”

 

Harry grins dopily. “Zayn. Hi, Zayn. Such a pretty name. _Zayn._ ”

 

Louis sniggers behind them.

 

“Harry, where do you live? I need you to tell me where you live, okay? Can you do that?”

 

“Your eyelashes are very long,” Harry whispers. His breath reeks of cheap tequila. “Off Claremont Road.”

 

“You live off Claremont Road?”

 

Harry nods and then hiccups.

 

Zayn lets go of his face and steps back. He turns to Louis with a small smile. “Well. Right near you, then, isn’t it, Lou?”

 

Louis doesn’t put up a fight, for once, as Zayn helps them into a cab but he makes a point of glaring at him as he shuts the door behind them.

 

“Have fun!” Zayn calls out and waves as the cab pulls off from the curb and into the middle of the road. He waits until they’re out of sight before walking back over to the door of the closed pub and rapping on the window pane. “Liam? You still there?”

 

Liam’s face appears at the window. “What?”

 

“Fancy giving me a lift home?” Zayn grins.

 

***

 

Fortunately for all of them, Harry’s first day isn’t until the following Wednesday. Zayn’s not sure that he could have dealt with his mild-to-moderate hangover on top of a hungover Harry.

 

And then there’s Louis, who won’t stop smirking at him every second of the day.

 

“What do you _want?”_ Zayn finally snaps around lunchtime. “Don’t you have customers you can be chasing away?”

 

Louis is only on the shop floor because it’s a Saturday and it’s busy and Niall’s not in until the afternoon. His eyes are crinkled at the corners with the force of his smirk.

 

It’s _infuriating._

 

“I figured it out. That’s all. Couldn’t have known, really. Neither could you have, I suppose. But now.” He nods. “Now, I _know_.”

 

Zayn blinks at him. Louis could be speaking a foreign language for all the sense he’s making. “What.”

 

“Why you hate Harry so much.”

 

Zayn sighs and smacks a security tag onto the back of a Chvrches album. “That’s a little harsh. I don’t _hate_ him. I just find him…difficult. To get along with.”

 

Louis purses his lips. “Whatever you say, Zayn.” He turns and returns to the shelf he’s been half-heartedly rearranging all morning.

 

“Wait, you never told me what it is? What is it that you know?” Zayn calls out, a frown etched into his forehead.

 

Louis ignores him.

 

Zayn’s about to follow after him when he hears the clatter of sandals coming into the shop.

 

“Hiya, Zayn!” It’s Megan. Her eyes are heavy with mascara and her t-shirt’s stretched tight over her chest.

 

Zayn’s head throbs at the sound of her voice. He doesn’t want to be charming today. He wants to stick his head under the cold tap until his ears stop ringing. He forces a smile onto his face and turns to her. “Hey, Megan. How’s school?” Zayn likes to remind her of her age at least once every conversation. Just so she doesn’t get any ideas.

 

Megan rolls her eyes, the topic boring to her right off the bat. “Have you got any recommendations? Everyone’s going on about that new Rihanna album but I’m _so_ over it already.” She flips her hair. It makes her t-shirt ride up. When had she gotten her bellybutton pierced?

 

Zayn runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, gimme a sec.”

 

Megan’s mates giggle and huddle closer together.

 

***

 

It’s raining on Harry’s first day. Zayn’s got his sodden, socked feet propped up on the small heater by the counter. His boots are tucked under it; the tangled laces crisp up at the edges as they dry off.

 

“Good morning.” Harry pulls his hood back from his face and shakes out his hair. He’s got a Starbucks carry-out tray in one hand, with two cups tucked inside of it. “So.” He glances at the tray and then at Zayn. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About Friday night.”

 

Zayn looks up from the crossword and tucks his pencil behind his ear. “Happens to the best of us.”

 

A cup gets set down on the counter, in front of his face. “Well. I brought you this anyway.”

 

Zayn blinks. “To say sorry?”

 

“To say thank you,” Harry corrects. “For making sure I got home safe.”

 

Zayn hums and turns his attention back to the newspaper. “That wasn’t me. That was Louis. So.” He scratches at his chin with the end of the pencil. “But he—”

 

“Doesn’t like coffee, I know.”

 

Zayn wants to ask how Harry can possibly know that, when he’s been working there for all of a minute and a half—a minute and a half in which he hasn’t done _any_ work, and Louis isn’t even present for. Instead, he just frowns at Harry, his head cocked. As though this confusing, six feet of a person might make some kind of sense if he just studies it long enough.

 

Harry rummages around in the deep pockets of his raincoat. “That’s why I brought him this.” He brings out something wrapped in brown paper.

 

Zayn wrinkles his nose. It smells greasy and unappealing.

 

“Sausage and bacon, no sauce.” Harry tosses it into the air and then catches it. “You don’t eat meat. You used to but then you watched a documentary on meat farming in the England and got so freaked out you won’t touch the stuff anymore. And it’s turned out to be a good thing because it got you really into cooking.”

 

Zayn wonders aloud if he should call the police.

 

Harry laughs and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Niall,” he explains. “What do you think we were talking about so intently for so long? He wanted to help make me feel at home, I think.”

 

Zayn clears his throat, unsure how to respond. “Your t-shirt’s in the staff room. I got you a medium for now but I can get you another one, if you want. Just let me know how it fits.”

 

Harry nods and his hair bounces along enthusiastically. “You don’t wear a uniform,” he comments.

 

“Nope.” Zayn scratches in three down with the blunt tip of the pencil. Nine letters: _a person of unconventional and slightly strange views or behaviour._ E-C-C-E-N-T-R-I-C.

“Why not?”

 

Zayn shrugs. “Because I don’t have to? Because I work here full time and the majority of the customers who walk through those doors knows my face.” He points towards the door to the back rooms with the end of the pencil. “You and Niall work here part-time; you and Niall wear uniform. It’s just a t-shirt. Now, go get changed so you can get to work.” Zayn pauses. “Please.”

 

Harry doesn’t look in the least put off by Zayn’s instructions. He salutes. “Yes, boss!”

 

Zayn watches him go. The truth is, whatever Louis thinks of the situation, he doesn’t know how he feels about Harry. He barely even knows what to think of him. His initial interpretation, of some young, irresponsible university kid, isn’t quite right—that much, he’s sure of. At least, _fairly_ sure of.

 

*

 

Harry’s energy is something that Zayn could not have been prepared for. Niall can be energetic, almost hyperactive: it typically comes a half hour after his lunch break is over, when the drowsiness has passed and the sugar from his Fanta has hit. That’s usually around the time that Zayn finds Niall a fresh box of stock, and leaves him to work out the energy by shoving CDs onto shelves.

 

Harry is something else. It’s like having an overgrown child in the shop from opening to close, three times a week. He skips around the shop more than he walks; he frequently dances _and_ sings to whatever music they have playing over the speakers; and he brings with him the smell of strawberry bubblegum that he blows into impossibly big bubbles on his walk from the front door to the back room each morning.

 

Most infuriating of all, is that Harry’s good at his job. More than good—he’s fantastic. Sure, he trips over things and falls into things and knocks things over, but so does Zayn. In fact, Zayn probably ought to be grateful that Harry’s replaced him as clumsiest member of staff after so many years.

 

So, Zayn can’t really have any legitimate reason to get annoyed with him.

 

Apart from the Taylor Swift thing.

 

“Zayn.” Louis says his name slowly, like he always does when he’s treading cautiously around him. That means he needs something, or that he’s about to say something that Zayn won’t like. “Zayn, Harry’s been working here for three weeks. You should really let him choose a CD already.”

 

“No.” Zayn slides the deadbolt shut on the front door and pulls down the blinds.

 

Louis’ sits by the counter, bagging up the notes. “Zayn. Harry says he’s asked you nicely but you were being a dick about it.”

 

“I wasn’t a dick about it.” Zayn turns to him and swings the keys around his finger. “Did Harry say I was being a dick about it?”

 

“No, Harry said he felt you were still treating him like a first-day-on-the-job new employee, and that he’s not sure it’s deserved. I’m saying you’re being a dick.”

 

“Harry doesn’t get to choose music.” Zayn tosses the keys at Louis who catches them and tucks them into his pocket. “The last time I gave him that privilege, I went to the stock room for two minutes, and when I came back, he’d put on Taylor Swift. And not the good album, either. The old, country stuff.”

 

Louis looks at him, his expression blank.

 

“ _Country_ , Lou.” Zayn throws up his hands. “I’m not listening to country in my place of work. It’s not happening.”

 

“You let Niall listen to Irish folk songs. That’s got to be worse than old school Taylor Swift.”

 

Zayn holds up a finger threateningly. “One day a year. I let Niall listen to Irish folk songs _one day out of the year._ And that’s for his birthday. Harry’s birthday isn’t until February.”

 

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “You know his birthday? Do you mean to say that you and Harry have actually _bonded_ a little?”

 

Zayn grabs the ledgers off the counter with a little more force than is necessary and starts towards the back room. “No. He added me on Facebook.”

 

Louis follows after him; the soles of his shoes smack off the shiny floors. “Well, you know, Zed, if you have such a problem with Harry’s music choices, then maybe you should teach him a little about good music.”

 

Zayn shoulders the door open and stares at Louis.

 

“You know.” Louis winks exaggeratedly. “ _Teach_ him.”

 

Zayn bangs his head off the doorframe as he heads into the cash office.“You’re a disgusting human being.”

 

“He’s definitely into you. I’m just saying.”

 

Zayn rolls his eyes. This is the thing about Louis, and has been, for as long as Zayn’s known him. Anyone who glances at Zayn a second too long is “definitely into him”. Zayn calls this a side effect of being the friend-in-the-longterm-relationship, insistently trying to make everyone in his circle of friends be as settled and committed as he is.

 

“You’re full of shit.”

 

“You haven’t dated anyone in ages!” Louis whines. “Remember those fun double dates we used to have? Now you’re just the awkward third wheel.”

 

Zayn looks up, offended. “It’s not awkward—Cate loves me. Did she say it was awkward?”

 

Louis huffs out a sigh. “Alright, fine, it’s not awkward. But you _are_ the third wheel and it would still be better if you started plus-oneing again.” He locks the cash into the safe and then straightens up and folds his arms over his chest. “I’m just looking out for you, mate. Cate’s been talking about setting you up. Some guy she works with. Real fit, apparently.”

 

“Not interested,” Zayn mutters and pushes past Louis to get to the staff room.

 

“You don’t even know him!”

 

“And he doesn’t know me! That’s why blind dates are stupid!”

 

“You’re such a git.” Louis sighs.

 

“Arsehole.”

 

The two boys glower at each other for a moment, shoulders up to their ears, hands balled into fists at their sides.

 

It’s Louis who breaks first. “Want to come over? Cate’s making that feta and spinach pie you gave her the recipe for.”

 

Zayn slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah, alright then.” He pauses. “No Harry, no blind dates, no surprises, right? Just pie?”

 

Louis raises his hands in mercy. “Just pie. Promise.”

 

Louis told the truth; more or less. Cate did force him to look at a bunch of photos of the guy from her work. _Erik._ He’s fit, but still—no.

 

“Which, of course, has nothing to do with a certain curly haired, dimply chap we know,” Louis mumbles from his end of the sofa.

 

Zayn throws his a dirty glare in lieu of a response. It’s more than he deserves.

 

***

 

Life carries on. Harry knocks things over, Zayn gives up on another crossword, and Niall comes in still so drunk from watching the Ireland v. France match the day before that Zayn sends him home before any customers can catch a whiff of his breath.

 

Some days are good. Some days, Zayn finds himself even quite enjoying Harry’s company, and the pleasant sort of positivity that seems to hover around the shop when he’s around. He still doesn’t let Harry pick the playlist, but it’s a step up from just tolerating him.

 

Some days, though, Zayn’s just irritable, and every one of Harry’s little quirks and mannerisms is enough to irk at Zayn until he’s seething and stomping about come the end of the day.

 

Some nights, they spend at The Great Bear, just as they always have done. Even Liam seems to count Harry as now being a solid member of the team. Sometimes, Zayn feels like he’s the only one who’s still got Harry on probation. Niall assures him that he is.

 

“He’s a good lad, I like him a lot.” Niall’s got beer foam clinging to the corner of his mouth. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. “Bit testosterone heavy around with Jen gone but, all in all, not a bad replacement.”

 

Zayn toys with his glass and doesn’t respond. He’s a drink behind but he’s not much in the mood for it tonight so he makes no move to catch up as Niall orders another round and a couple of bags of crisps to share, too.

 

“You’re pretty quiet, tonight,” Liam comments as he brings the drinks over.

 

Zayn looks up and then shrugs. “Long week,” he says.

 

“Been writing?”

 

Zayn shakes his head. “Not so much recently. Can’t get my thoughts straight.”

 

“Maybe because you’re not,” Niall chips in and waggles his eyebrows.

 

Zayn rolls his eyes and jabs Niall in the ribs. “Eat your crisps and be quiet.”

 

“I’m not either!” Harry declares loudly, as though any of them were unaware. If Zayn’s a drink behind, Harry’s a couple ahead. His cheeks are rosy and he hiccups intermittently. “I can never decide if I prefer having sex with girls or boys, though,” he muses.

 

“Girls are so lovely.” Niall sighs and props his chin in his hands.

 

Louis claps him on the shoulder. “Aw, mate. Still lovestruck over that girl from the other week?”

 

“She was the girl of my dreams,” Niall tells them seriously.

 

Zayn watches him with an amused quirk to the corner of his mouth. It’s not the first time he’s heard that.

 

“It’s different with boys, though. Can be a lot of fun,” Liam comments.

 

The whole group pauses, and turns to stare at him.

 

“Liam Payne,” Louis says, awed. “How have you kept this from us for so long?”

 

Liam straightens up and tugs down his shirt. “What? You never asked.” His cheeks are slightly pink as he scuttles back to the bar.

 

“Anyone else got any surprises, while we’re at it?” Louis asks.

 

“I always had a feeling,” Niall comments as he looks after Liam.

 

Louis snorts. “You did not.” He peers at Niall. “You better not be thinking about having sex with him. I like this pub and I’m not finding a new one if you shag the owner.”

 

Niall huffs and colours. “What? I’ve _considered_ it, with boys. Wonder if I’m missing out on something, you know?”

 

“You are,” Harry tells him. He tilts his head around to Zayn. “Which one? Girls or boys?”

 

“Uh.” Zayn clasps his drink tighter.

 

“Not relationship wise. Just in terms of fucking.”

 

Louis catches Zayn’s eye.

 

Zayn shifts his gaze away. “Dunno. Never really thought about it in comparative terms,” he mumbles. He downs the rest of his drink.

 

Harry is unconcerned by his vague response. “I think it depends on what kind of mood I’m in. This one girl, though.” Harry whistles and takes a sip of his drink.

 

Zayn excuses himself from the booth before Harry can get into the specifics of the girl in question or what she’d done that was so memorable. He decides against going for a smoke and goes to stand by the end of the bar instead.

 

Liam finishes stacking up fresh glasses and turns to him. “You alright?”

 

Zayn nods. “Yeah, just not really my area of expertise,” he jokes and nods back towards the table.

 

Harry is lewdly demonstrating something with his hands and Zayn looks away.

 

“I take it he doesn’t know?”

 

Zayn shakes his head. “It’s not a _secret_ , exactly. But I prefer to know someone a bit first before I tell them.”

 

“I know.” Liam smiles. “I remember when you told me.”

 

“I was drunk off my arse and vomiting in your back room toilet, wasn’t I?” Zayn chuckles. “Took you forever to figure out what I meant when I said I was ace.”

 

Liam laughs. “You just kept saying ace! Thought you meant you were feeling great and I was like, well, mate, don’t know how ace you can be feeling when you’ve got bile dribbling down your chin. Then you spent five minutes rambling about how much you missed kissing before telling me how much you didn’t miss the part where you had to explain to someone why you didn’t want to do more than kiss. Finally got it.”

 

Zayn sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair.

 

“Is that why you haven’t been dating for a while? I know it’s probably easier said than done but you shouldn’t let it hold you back. Not everyone’s going to be a dickhead about it like Jamie was.”

 

Zayn grimaces at the name. “I know. But it gets tiring to get my hopes up and then—”

 

“Watch them walk away,” Liam finishes for him. “You said that, too. That night.”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn whispers. He traces patterns on the sticky surface of the bar with his index finger.

 

“Chin up, Zed.” Liam flicks his chin with his finger gently. “Yeah?”

 

Zayn pretends to bite at the end of finger. “Yeah, mate.” He looks back to the booth. “Another drink, barkeep.”

 

***

 

It’s a bad day.

 

The thing is, Harry’s not the neatest—and Zayn’s not, either, except for when he chooses to be. Zayn finds himself, that afternoon, sorting through stacks of old freebie magazines behind the counter, glued together with old cereal bar wrappers and whatever else.

 

Zayn curses under his breath and tosses another load of them towards the bin. He looks up over the counter and glares at Harry, down at the other end of the shop. Harry shoves another stack of CDs into what is an already tight shelf and Zayn curls his upper lip in distaste.

 

Zayn’s been in a bad mood all day; ever since he woke up and found that his milk had gone out of date and soured, and he’d had to drink his coffee black and bitter. Having finally made it out of the house, it then started to pour, torrential nearly, right as he stepped off the bus and by the time he made it to the shop it was to find it cold, and with a vomit puddle two feet from the door on the pavement. The only interesting part of his day had been stopping some spotty-faced kid from shoving a handful of CDs up his jumper and even that had pissed him off.

 

Zayn sighs and leans his head against the countertop. It’s only another hour until closing but his head throbs gently with the beginnings of a headache and each new customer through the door brings with them drops of cold rain being sprayed this way and that.

 

“Hiya, Zayn.”

 

Zayn lifts his head and blinks a few times. “Hey, Megan. You alright?”

 

She’s alone today with a baggy zip-up hoodie hanging off her shoulders and over her waist. “Yeah, I’m good.” She glances behind her with a frown. “Is Harry here?”

 

Zayn gapes. “Uh. Yeah. He just went to the stockroom, I think. Why?”

 

“Oh, cool.” She smiles. “I’ll just wait for him up the back, then, yeah?” She waggles her fingers and sashays off down the stacks towards the backroom door.

 

Zayn never thought there would come a day when he’d be _upset_ to see Megan prefer to bother someone other than him. But as he watches Megan greet Harry with one hip cocked out and one finger twirling around a strand of hair, an irrational wave of jealousy churns in the pit of his stomach.

 

He throws himself down onto the chair behind the counter with a grunt. And then, for good measure, turns the volume up on the playlist, and folds his arms over his chest.

 

*

 

“I need to talk to you. About Harry.” Zayn doesn’t bother to knock, nor to close the door to Louis’ office.

 

“You finally figured it out, then?” Louis looks up from his laptop screen and then frowns. “Christ. What crawled up your arse and died? You look _pissed._ ”

 

“I _am_ pissed, Lou,” Zayn hisses. “I’ve had enough of your fun little experiment. I get it—get a student in, it looks young and fresh, makes us look hip, yeah? But I’m done. I’m sick of him.”

 

Genuine concern crosses Louis’ face. He sets down his pen. “What happened?”

 

“Nothing happened.” Zayn sighs. “But he’s messy. And he overstocks the shelves. And he’ll spend an _hour_ talking with a customer and not paying attention to anything else going on around him. _And_ he keeps eating all my flying saucers.”

 

Louis taps his fingers off the top of his desk slowly. “Right,” he says, dragging the word out slowly. “So, a few things to improve on, but nothing really that serious, then.”

 

“You’re not _listening_ to me,” Zayn snaps. He feels his hackles rising and he doesn’t even know why he says it until he’s saying it. “I can’t stand him, and I certainly can’t stand another day working with him. Either he goes, or I do. Simple as that.”

 

The old floorboards creak somewhere behind Zayn. Zayn tenses and very slowly turns his head around.

 

Harry stands in the doorway, his hand tight around the shop keys. His cheeks are red and his eyes are watery but his mouth is set into a firm line. He looks straight past Zayn, to Louis. “All locked up, up front,” he says in a quiet voice as he steps into the room and lays the keys on the table. “I’ll just finish up in the stockroom and then I’ll be going.”

 

“Harry,” Zayn mumbles as Harry slips past him.

 

Harry doesn’t so much as pause. He closes the office door behind him on his way out. Down the hall, the stockroom door slams shut a few moments later.

 

The office is silent for a moment, save for the hum of Louis’ laptop and the sound of the rain on the window.

 

Louis breaks the silence with a heavy sigh. “I should speak to you as your boss, and tell you how unprofessional, uncharacteristic and, frankly, how rude that was. I would have grounds to fire you for speaking like that. But I’m not going to. I’m going to speak to you as a friend.” Louis stands up and moves to stand in front of Zayn.

 

Zayn is taller but he feels small under Louis’ gaze. His mouth is dry and guilt and shame itch under his skin.

 

“I don’t know what the fuck that was, Zayn. But this?” Louis gestures to him. “This isn’t you. I don’t know what’s happened to my friend but I’d prefer it if he, rather than this dickhead, shows up to work from now on.”

 

Zayn’s head droops. He nods. “Fuck.” He licks his dry lips. “I’m sorry, Lou. I don’t know what came over me.”

 

“Don’t apologise to me. Go and apologise to _him_.” Louis gives him a gentle shove towards the door. “I’m going home. Call me later if you need to talk about any of this, yeah?”

 

Zayn squeezes Louis’ shoulder once and heads down the hall towards the stockroom. His feet drag over the floor as he reaches the door. He peeks into the small round window.

 

Harry’s knelt by an open box, stacking CDs into trays for putting out tomorrow. His cheeks are damp and he pauses to rub at his eyes.

 

Zayn pushes the door open and lets it fall shut.

 

Harry looks up and then back down at the box quickly. “I’m nearly done. Sorry. I know you probably want to get home.”

 

“No—Harry.” Zayn bites his lip. “I mean, yeah, obviously I do, but.” He laughs but it’s flat and stilted given the feeling in the room. “Harry, can I talk to you for a second?”

 

Harry doesn’t reply and keeps sifting through the box.

 

Zayn walks over to him and kneels down at his side. “Harry.” He lays a hand gently over Harry’s wrist. “Please.”

 

Harry pauses and looks up at him. The corners of his eyes are red.

 

Zayn feels it in the pit of his stomach. “Harry, I’m so sorry. Not just that you heard that but that I _said_ it. I don’t—that’s not really what I think. I don’t hate you. Not at all.”

 

“It’s okay if you do,” Harry mumbles and shakes his wrist free of Zayn’s grasp. “Personalities clash, you know? You don’t have to pretend to like me if you don’t.”

 

“No, no.” Zayn takes a breath. “I do like you. I mean, I don’t know you that well yet but what I do know of you, I like.” He moves to sit cross-legged and waits until Harry sets the stack of CDs down and focuses him. “One of the reasons that I like working here so much is that things don’t change all that much. I like things that I can rely on; things that stay the same. And for so long, it was me, and Louis, and Niall, and Jen. The same kinds of customers would come in and ask the same kinds of things. On Saturday nights we’d go to our same pub and have the same drinks in our same booth.”

 

“Sounds a bit boring,” Harry murmurs, the tiniest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

 

Zayn chuckles. “Yeah, maybe a bit. But it works for me. Having a routine like that. It’s comfortable. And, then, you turned up. And things changed. And every day with you around started being a little different because you’re the kind of person that brings with you each day something different. Whether it’s a story about orcas like it was last week or those weird healthy cocoa orange things the week before that I kind of love even though it feels like I’m cheating on proper chocolate.

 

“You make things _different._ And that freaked me out. It freaked me out because _no one else_ was freaked out. Louis and Niall adore you. The customers adore you. It was like me, and my boring old routine, didn’t really have a place here anymore.”

 

Harry frowns. “I could never replace you. You’re like the beating heart of this place.”

 

Zayn smiles softly. “I freaked out,” he repeats. “So I decided, subconsciously, to blame you for it and take it all out on you. And that’s not okay, and I’m sorry.”

 

Harry takes a breath and sits back more comfortably on his heels. “I understand. But what you said, and how you acted towards me sometimes—I’m not going to lie and say that didn’t hurt my feelings. I might not be able to forgive you right away but I will let you make it up to me.” Harry grins coyly and looks up at him from under his eyelashes.

 

Zayn quirks an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

 

Harry pushes the box towards him. “You could always start by helping me sort these out so then we can _both_ get out of here.”

 

Zayn grins and grabs a handful. “Least I can do.”

 

“Dickhead,” Harry mutters under his breath with a smile dimpling his cheeks.

 

*

 

“Thanks for helping me out with those,” Harry says as Zayn sets the code on the back door and yanks the door shut. He tucks his face into his scarf and pushes his hands into his pockets.

 

Zayn shrugs. “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

 

The two smile at each other for a moment under the dull street lamp overhead. The rain’s eased off, leaving the streets slick and wet, and the scent of damp heavy in the air.

 

“How do you feel about Turkish food?” Zayn asks suddenly.

 

Harry’s nose peeks over the edge of the scarf. “I feel good things.” He cocks his head. “Why do you ask?”

 

“There’s this really great Turkish place on Moss Lane.” Zayn scuffs the toe of his boot into the gutter. “Like, if you’d want to go. I don’t really feel like cooking and it’s right near you.”

 

“Isn’t it, like, the opposite direction to where you live, though?”

 

“Well.” Zayn purses his lips. “Not the _opposite_ direction, exactly. It’s worth the trek.”

 

Harry hesitates for a moment and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

 

They walk in silence towards the bus stop. The air has changed between them: where, previously, it was strained or still somewhat uncertain, it now feels filled with promise. A spark of something that Zayn can’t quite put his finger on.

 

Zayn turns it over in his head as they walk, their feet falling in step with one another as they round the corner. It’s quiet out but there’s a few teenagers at the bus stop, huddled together and exchanging loud mouthed insults back and forth.

 

It’s instinctive, really, the way Zayn places a hand on the centre of Harry’s back to keep him close as they shelter under the cracked plastic roof at the end away from the teenagers. Harry casts him a curious look but that doesn’t stop him from leaning into the touch and giving him a small smile.

 

They let the teenagers pile onto the bus first before following and choosing two seats near the front. Harry takes the seat next to the window and Zayn fits in next to him.

 

Harry touches his hand lightly to Zayn’s knee. “I think that was one of the weirdest things for me to get used to, when I moved here. I’d been to Manchester before, of course, but coming from such a small town like Holmes Chapel.” Harry shakes his head. “Crowds or groups, even if they are just kids. It doesn’t make me so uneasy anymore but it’s still a little strange for me.”

 

Zayn looks down at Harry’s hand on his knee. He curls his own into his pockets so that he doesn’t do something ridiculous like try and lace his fingers through Harry’s. “Groups like that are pretty common in Bradford. But me and my cousin got jumped once. Couldn’t have been much older than them,” he nods towards the back of the bus, “and we were about the same age. But it’s made me a little wary.”

 

Harry squeezes his knee tight. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

 

Zayn smiles at him and shakes his head. “There are ignorant people everywhere in this world. That’s what my dad always told us. S’why you should only bother with the smart ones.” He winks at Harry and Harry’s lips curl into a grin.

 

Harry finally moves his hand from Zayn’s knee and Zayn lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

 

“So, then. Tell me about this fancy language degree you’re getting, then.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s not a _language_ degree. It’s the scientific study of language.”

 

“Yeah, exactly. That’s why I called it a _fancy_ language degree, didn’t I?”

 

Harry barks out a laugh and then presses a hand over his mouth.

 

Zayn’s eyes widen. “What was that glorious noise? I’ve never heard _that_ before.”

 

Harry clears his throat. “Nothing, it was nothing. So, about my fancy language degree.” Under the yellowy bus lighting, Harry’s eyes sparkle bright.

 

*

 

“You got your box?” Zayn asks as they step out of the restaurant onto the street. The wind’s picked up and Zayn shivers as it hits the back of his neck.

 

Harry taps the small takeout box under his arm with the leftovers from their meal. “Like I would leave without it.” He groans as they start to amble down the street. “You weren’t kidding about that place. That was _incredible_.” He rubs a hand over his stomach.

 

“Isn’t it, though?” Zayn grins and holds Harry’s elbow to stay next to him as they dodge past a couple walking in the opposite direction. “How long have you been living down here? And only now you find out about this place?” He whistles lowly. “Despicable.”

 

“Hey,” Harry drawls. “I’m a student. I just live on pasta and beans.”

 

Zayn wrinkles his nose. “And weird healthy cocoa orange things.”

 

“And weird healthy cocoa orange things,” Harry agrees. He idles on the corner of Monton Street. “So, I’m this way.” He gestures with a thumb over his shoulder.

 

Zayn pauses. “I’ll walk you home.”

 

“Zayn, you really don’t need to. The food was enough. You’re forgiven.”

 

Zayn shakes his head. “Not for that. Just let me walk you home. Please?”

 

Harry sighs and looks over his shoulder. He turns back and smiles at Zayn. “Well, go on then.”

 

They walk side by side, their shoulders brushing every so often as they go.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

Zayn tilts his head around to look at Harry. “Sure.”

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way but is there something…more, you want to do? More than just the shop? I know that for Louis it’s the business of it, but for you—I just can’t figure it out.”

 

Zayn mulls the question over for a moment. “Did you know I write?”

 

Harry brightens. “There! You see? I knew there was something.”

 

Zayn smiles into the collar of his coat. “Well. That’s my something, then. I don’t know that I could ever make a career out of it but it keeps me sane. Keeps my mind occupied on the slow days.”

 

“What do you write?”

 

“Poetry.”

 

“You’re a poet.” Harry hums. “Very romantic.”

 

Zayn laughs. “You think so? I don’t think many of my poems are the romantic kind.”

 

“Sure. You don’t have to write romantic poems for poetry to be romantic. It’s the rhythm. It’s like music. Music is romantic, even if the song isn’t a romantic song.”

 

Zayn cocks his head. “I suppose I never thought about it that way—about the relationship between poetry and music.”

 

Harry slows his pace outside a chipped red gate. “Well. This is my stop.” He rocks on his heels. “Thank you for dinner. I had a really lovely time tonight, Zayn.”

 

Zayn looks up at Harry in the faint light coming from the houses and moves without stopping to think. Harry’s lips are cool to the touch but soft. Harry makes a small sound as Zayn curls a hand around the back of his neck, and leans in to the kiss.

 

“Oh,” Harry breathes against his lips as they break apart.

 

For a moment, Zayn is caught in the daze of it all, his thumb stroking the side of Harry’s neck. He blinks once, twice, and then starts and jumps back. “I—” Zayn swallows. “I should go.”

 

Harry looks confused. “Okay. That’s okay.”

 

“Goodnight,” Zayn says briskly and turns on his heel and walks fast-paced down the street, his head tucked down into his collar. His lips are still warm and he can still feel the phantom beat of Harry’s pulse against his palm. He keeps walking, and doesn’t look back.

 

***

 

Zayn doesn’t sleep well that night. He lies awake, staring at the flaking blue paint on the ceiling with the blankets tucked up to his chin against the cold. He goes through it: every detail that led from the stockroom at the shop to kissing Harry on his doorstep.

 

He goes through Harry’s smile and the way his eyes glow when he laughs. He goes through their easy conversation and how quiet and attentive Harry was when Zayn told him of his family. He goes through it all but he can’t pinpoint when it started feeling less like dinner with a co-worker and more like a date.

 

He won’t see Harry tomorrow and it’s the only thing that manages to ease the feeling in his stomach, somewhere between anxious and adrenalin, enough that he can fall asleep.

 

But the insomnia clearly shows on his face the next morning. Louis eyes him when he arrives to work with a thermos tucked under his arm. He lets Zayn settle in for the day first; wisely choosing to say nothing until Zayn’s one cup of tea in.

 

It’s a bitterly cold day and town is dead quiet. The breeze keeps pushing the door open a fraction and letting in sharp pricks of cold air. Zayn tucks his denim jacket tighter around his body and shudders. The steam from the cup in his hands tickles at the end of his nose.

 

“Are you ill?” Louis asks.

 

Zayn frowns and shakes his head. “Don’t look _that_ bad, do I?”

 

Louis walks over to him and leans against the counter. “You look exhausted,” Louis replies with an unapologetic shrug. “Late night, then?”

 

“Kinda.” Zayn avoids his gaze as he takes a sip of his tea. “Couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Hmm.” Louis drums his fingers off the counter. “What time did you get home?”

 

“Before ten,” Zayn replies without thinking.

 

“ _Ten?”_ Louis’ eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “You can’t have been _here_ that late.”

 

“No, no. We—I mean, _I_ , I went for dinner.” Zayn clears his throat.

 

“By yourself.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Don’t believe you.”

 

“Well, I _did_.”

 

“Did not.

 

“Did too.”

 

Louis’s eyebrows pinch into a frown. “Why are you lying to me? Since when do you lie to me?”

 

“I’m not lying!” Zayn can feel that his cheeks are hot.

 

“Who did you have dinner with?” Louis gasps. “Was it a date? Did you go on a date? Do I know them?”

 

Zayn fumbles around a reply. Louis’ eyes bore into his and all he can picture is his look of pure glee if he tells him the truth. If he tells him who he really had dinner with. “Yeah, yeah, fine. I was on a date. But you don’t know them,” he lies. It comes out in a rush; the first things to pop into his head spilling straight out of his mouth. “S’like, a friend of my sister’s.”

 

“Girl or boy? What’s their name?” Louis’ excited now: his eyes gleam and he’s practically bouncing the balls of his feet. “I’ll have to tell Cate! How soon can you bring them to dinner, do you think? I assume it went well.”

 

Zayn shrinks back against the onslaught of questions and cradles his tea cup close to his chest. “A boy, his name’s—” Zayn panics and glances around the shop. “Drake.”

 

_Fuck._

 

Louis stops his bouncing. He’s suspicious again. “His name’s _Drake?”_ Louis cackles. “Does he know where you work? That’s hilarious.”

“It’s a nickname. Everyone calls him it, apparently. He’s a massive fan.” Zayn shrugs and tries to make it look casual. “It went pretty well but I don’t know if I’ll see him again.”

 

“Was he weird about wanting to go home with you?”

 

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, no. Nothing like that. Didn’t go into it, like, but he was totally chill.” He smiles a little. “Promise.”

 

“Good.” Louis is nothing if not fiercely protective, without Zayn ever having asked him to be. “Well. Keep me updated, yeah?”

 

Zayn nods. His stomach curls: it’s feels strange to lie to Louis after all this time. Zayn might take a while to open up to new people but once he’s comfortable with someone, he isn’t the type to secret things away from those around him.

 

Louis starts off towards the back of the shop and Zayn lets out a breath. “Hey, Zayn?” Louis turns back.

 

Zayn looks up.

 

Louis grins “Is he cute, at least?”

 

Zayn chuckles and ducks his head. The tilt of Harry’s smile comes into Zayn’s mind. “Yeah. He’s very cute.”

 

Louis seems pleased. He nods and heads back to the office.

 

Zayn sighs, reaches into the flying saucers box, and stuffs the last remaining sweet into his mouth.

 

***

 

When Harry comes in for his next shift a few days later, he finds Zayn hiding behind counter.

 

“What are you doing down there?”

 

Zayn isn’t going to tell him that he’d ducked down there as a gut reaction to seeing Harry for the first time since he’d kissed him. “Dropped something,” Zayn says, instead. He glances around the floor quickly and grabs an elastic band that’s probably been down there for years. “This.” He stands up. “Found it.

 

Harry smiles at him. “So.”

 

“So.”

 

“Hi, Zayn.” He blinks his eyelashes slowly; his eyes are warm and soft.

 

Zayn’s stomach flip-flops. He’s definitely doing that on purpose. “Hi, Harry.” He fiddles with the elastic band. “Uh, the A to Z’s are kind of a mess. We had a mum with a toddler in earlier. Cutest little thing I’ve ever seen but total tyrant. The kid, I mean. Not the mum.” Zayn chuckles.

 

“Sure, Zayn.” The way Harry says is name is syrupy and slow. His gaze lingers before he turns and gets to work.

 

Zayn sinks down against the counter with a sigh and closes his eyes. He stretches the elastic band out across the fingers of one hand and keeps his eyes closed, focusing on the way it strains across his hand.

 

“Slow day?”

 

Zayn snaps his eyes open fast at the sound of Louis’ voice and the elastic band pings right out of his hand and hits Harry on the ear.

 

Harry looks up in surprise and rubs his ear.

 

“Sorry! Sorry, Harry, accident—”

 

Harry waves him off. “It’s fine. Wasn’t too hard.” He shoots him a wink. “That’s one way to get my attention.”

 

Zayn is very aware of Louis standing by his side. He swallows and laughs dryly.

 

“Something’s going on,” Louis says.

 

“Nothing’s going on.” Zayn gestures around the shop, empty save for the three of them. “Like you said, slow day.”

 

Louis looks back and forth between him and Harry and then purses his lips.

 

***

 

Zayn likes Sundays: Sundays mean no alarm, no work, and brunch. He likes cooking eggs in his boxers and a ratty sweatshirt with his Sunday morning playlist on at full volume and blaring around his little house.

 

Sundays don’t usually involve the phone ringing. His mum always calls on Wednesdays. His sisters rarely call; usually just text.

 

Zayn pauses with an egg, still intact, between his fingers and stares at his phone where it sits on the dining room table, buzzing persistently on the wood. After a moment’s deliberation, he puts the egg down and walks over to it.

 

_Harry from work (mobile)_

 

Zayn slides his thumb across the screen to answer. “Hi, Harry.” He moves into the hall where the music is slightly quieter.

 

“Hi, Zayn! What are you up to right now?”

 

Zayn glances at the frying pan and bowl. “Not much. Why?”

 

“I was near yours meeting a friend and I don’t really have anything to do. I was wondering if I could come over.”

 

Zayn looks down at his unfed, disheveled self. “How near?

 

“Like, ten minutes?”

 

Zayn finds himself saying yes. “It’s number thirty-six.”

 

“I know!” Harry responds brightly. “Niall told me. I’ll see you soon.”

 

Zayn abandons his eggs and trips towards the shower, Cake’s _The Distance_ still reverberating between the walls.

 

Somehow, Zayn is dressed and presentable by the time Harry arrives, exactly fourteen minutes later, wielding a pastry box.

 

“I figured you shouldn’t turn up to someone’s house on a Sunday without an offering.”

 

Zayn steps back to let him in and then rushes into the kitchen to put away the eggs and the frying pan. “Do you want some coffee?” He calls out as he reaches for some plates for the pastries.

 

“I’d love some.” Harry looks around as he walks into the kitchen, drinking in every little detail of Zayn’s space. “You’ve got a lovely house.”

 

“Thank you.” Zayn grabs a couple of mugs and sets to making coffee.

 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I don’t know what your usual Sunday routine is.”

 

“Oh, there’s no routine,” Zayn fibs. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

 

Harry appears at ease in Zayn’s space. He wanders around the room and takes it in. Touches a finger to a book spine here; picks up a photo there, studies it closer and then puts it back right where he found it. He lays a palm over a battered black soft Moleskin and Zayn tenses a little.

 

“Your writing?” Harry asks, as though the touch of his hand to the cover was enough to tell him everything he needed to know about what’s inside.

 

Zayn nods and fiddles with a phantom loose thread on his jumper.

 

Harry moves his hand. “I won’t peek, promise.” His grin is crooked.

 

Zayn’s shoulder slump. There are no odes to Harry’s eyes or his smile within the pages that he has to fear Harry will find—although his mind has supplied more than one line over recent days to commit the memories to paper. But the words contained within the pages are open and honest, and Harry is still new to him. Still someone he’s learning to trust.

 

Harry wanders over to his laptop where it’s plugged into his speakers. “What are you listening to?” He asks, bemused.

 

Zayn turns to stare at him. “You don’t know this song?”

 

“No? Should I?” Harry taps the laptop awake and stares at the screen. “ _Sunday morning chill_ ,” he reads off the screen and turns to grin at Zayn. “No routine, huh?”

 

Zayn huffs out a laugh and turns the coffee machine on. He leans back against the counter and folds his arms over his chest. “Don’t change the subject.” He crosses over to the laptop and selects another song. “What about this?” Zayn asks as _Butterfly_ by Crazy Town starts playing over the speakers.

 

Harry listens for a few moments and looks at the screen. He turns to Zayn, shakes his head, and shrugs.

 

Zayn’s appalled. “Sit,” he says and points to one of the chairs by the dining table. “As long as you’re here, you’re going to learn something.”

 

Harry obediently goes to sit down and Zayn unplugs his laptop out of the main speakers and puts it down on the dining table instead.

 

Pastries, coffee, and a dozen jewel cases spread across the table with Harry isn’t how Zayn expected to spend his Sunday. But he finds himself enjoying it, despite Harry’s general ignorance about the true classics of the 1990s and the fact that when he finishes his own cup of coffee, Harry starts stealing sips of Zayn’s.

 

Zayn lets Harry pick through his meticulously organised, precious collection of CDs and vinyls; lets him take the slips out of the cases and open them up and read them. Zayn doesn’t let _anyone_ touch his music collection. Ever. It’s just a thing. But, Harry?

 

Harry, he just watches do it. Watches the care he takes over it and the way he studies the slip with the same attention to detail. Harry takes a special liking to his copy of Public Service Broadcasting’s _The Race for Space_ which they set up on his laptop to play.

 

“The recordings? They’re actual clips from those events,” Zayn explains. “Sputnik. The first spacewalk. The moon landing.”

 

“That’s so cool,” Harry murmurs in awe. Harry reaches for Zayn’s hands as though he’s barely even conscious that he’s doing it.

 

Zayn doesn’t try to stop him and lets Harry’s palms slide over his before Harry’s long fingers curl around Zayn’s wrists. They’re sat side by side at the table and Harry’s knee bumps against his own every time he shifts.

 

Zayn lets go of Harry’s hands only to reach for his vinyl copy. “You know how vinyl has the A-side and the B-side?” He slips the record out of its sleeve.

 

Harry nods. “Sure. A-side is the well-known stuff and B-side is the other stuff.”

 

“Right, exactly—that’s what people think. That the lesser songs are on the B-side. But take this album.” He flips the record carefully in his hands. “B3, Track 8.”

 

Harry checks the listing on the CD. “ _Go!_ Inspired by the Apollo 11 landing.”

 

“Clearly a pretty important song on the record, right?”

 

Harry fixes him with an amused look. “Are you trying to teach me not to judge a record by its B-side, Zayn?”

 

Zayn chuckles and slides the record back into the sleeve. “Maybe.” He shrugs and looks up at Harry with a smirk. His phone pings on the table beside them. He cranes his head to look.

 

Louis (13:03) _Wanna come to the pub with me and Cate? We were thinking pints and maybe some food later._

Louis (13:04) _If you’re finished with your Sunday chill out routine._

Louis (13:04) _Dorkface._

Louis (13:04) _:)_

 

Zayn apologises to Harry and reaches for his phone.

 

“It’s okay, take your time.” Harry smiles and hits replay on the album.

 

Zayn (13:06) _Nah, not today._

Louis (13:07) _Why not??_

Zayn (13:08) _Got a mate over, sorry!_

Louis (13:08) _What mate? Liam’s working and Niall’s just said he’s coming so it can’t be him._

Louis (13:10) _ZAYN._

“You should go,” Harry encourages.

 

Zayn looks up, surprised.

 

Harry flushes a little. “Sorry. Couldn’t help but look.”

 

Zayn shrugs. “I might catch up with them later, it’s all good.”

 

Harry hums. “You could at least tell Louis it’s me that’s here. Stop him panicking that you’ve gone and found new mates.” He chuckles and points to Zayn’s phone that’s buzzed a further three times.

 

Louis (13:11) _What are you keeping from me?!_

Louis (13:12) _If you don’t reply to his message I’m going to assume you’re in a hostage situation and will call the police._

Louis (13:13) _Zayn, THIS ISN’T FUNNY I’LL DO IT._

Zayn (13:15) _Don’t call the police, you absolute tit._

Zayn (13:16) _It’s Drake, yeah? I’ll maybe come by later. Let me know where you end up._

Louis (13:16) _OOH!_

Louis (13:17) _You could have just said._

Louis (13:19) _Also what’s his real name because I’m sorry but I can’t call him Drake and keep a straight face._

 

Harry pushes his chair back. “I should maybe go, actually.”

 

Zayn tosses his phone down. “Wait, now? Why?”

 

Harry twists his hands up into the sleeves of his sweater and shrugs. “Just, like. Think maybe I got the wrong idea.” He smiles tightly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you at work, yeah?”

 

“Harry, wait.” Zayn grabs hold of his arm. “If this is about the other night—”

 

“It’s fine, I get it. You made a mistake. Spur of the moment.”

 

“No, that’s not it.” Zayn panics as he feels Harry pulling free of his grip. It wasn’t a mistake. That much he knows. Just like he knows that he wants to taste Harry’s smile again, and he wants to know if the backs of his knees are soft to the touch, and he wants to know what it feels like to wake up with a mouthful of Harry’s hair and his hand against his chest.

 

Those are things he should say. But what comes out, is: “Harry, I don’t want to have sex with you.”

 

Harry gapes at him as though he’s grown large green horns. “I got that, thanks,” he bites back and storms towards the door.

 

“Fuck,” Zayn mutters and scrambles after him. “That came out wrong. That’s not what I meant! I mean, it is but it’s also not.” He runs to the front door and slams his back against it before Harry can reach for the handle. “Harry. Please, just. Give me a second to explain. That’s _not_ how I wanted to tell you.”

 

Harry pauses but he looks wary. He looks _young_ , and nervous, and sort of like he’s just had his heartbroken.

 

Zayn hates that he’s put that expression on his face. “Everything I just said, and lying to Louis about you being here, all of that—it all came out the wrong way and I think it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve had an actual, honest to god _crush_ on someone that I completely panicked and said whatever ridiculous shit came to mind.”

 

The tiniest hint of a smile crooks at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “You have a crush on me?”

 

“Yeah,” Zayn says and lets out a breath. He’d barely even acknowledged it to himself before that moment but it felt right. That smile on Harry’s face felt right. Harry in his house felt _right._ “Can you just come sit back down and let me explain everything?”

 

Harry looks at the door and then at Zayn. He nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

 

*

 

Harry doesn’t claim to understand it all; all of what it means for Zayn, or what it means for the two of them. But he does promise to look it up, to try and learn.

 

“Harry, you don’t need to Google me, it’s okay. We can just chat about it as we go. If you want to, like—if you’re okay with it.”

 

“Zayn.” Harry takes his hands and holds them tight. “Asexuality is a part of you so it’s important to you so it’s important to me. It’s not everything about you, or the most important thing about you, but it’s still a part of you. And I don’t quite…” Harry licks his lips. “I don’t quite know if I can answer that yet but I’m pretty confident I’m okay with it. You’re still you. You’re just Zayn.”

 

Zayn smiles softly and squeezes Harry’s hands. “Thank you. For hearing me out.”

 

Harry stands up. “I do actually need to get going—I’m having a Sunday roast with my family later.”

 

“Yeah, ‘course. Sounds lovely.” Zayn stands, too. His arms hang awkwardly at his sides as though he doesn’t know whether he can reach for Harry or not.

 

Harry hesitates and then steps in closer to him. “Can I…I’d really like to kiss you, if you’d like that?”

 

Zayn nods, a little breathless already. “I’d like that a lot.”

 

Harry doesn’t touch him as though he might break. He digs his fingers into Zayn’s scalp and through his hair and drags Zayn to him, his mouth hot and hungry against Zayn’s.

 

Zayn traces the contours of Harry’s face as they break apart.

 

“Wow,” Harry breathes out and kisses his lips chastely. “Oh, and.” Another kiss. “For the record, I have a crush on you, too. In fact, you could say I’m _craz_ y about you.”

 

Zayn blinks a few times. “Huh?”

 

Harry’s smile is almost blinding. “You know. Like _Craze_ , the shop. But craz _y._ ”

 

“Oh my god,” Zayn splutters and leans forward to wrap his arms around Harry’s back. He presses his face into Harry’s shoulder and tries to hide his million-watt smile. “Wow,” he echoes.

 

***

 

Zayn decides not to go to the pub in the end and so doesn’t see Louis until the following day. They’ve barely opened the shutters when Harry steps in, his coat buttoned right up to his neck to keep out the cold.

 

“Harry!” Zayn exclaims. He quickly settles and tries not to look too overenthusiastic.

 

Louis casts him a suspicious glance but says nothing.

 

“You’re not working today?”

 

“No.” Harry slings his rucksack off his shoulder and rummages around in it. “I wanted to bring you something before I went to the library.” He pulls out a large plastic tub of flying saucers. “Sorry for eating so many of the last lot.”

 

Zayn wants, more than anything, to reach across the counter and kiss Harry square on the mouth—but he’s not much in it for the audience. “Thank you,” he says instead and takes the tub from Harry. “Seriously, Haz.” He grins and tears past the sellotape closure to grab one.

 

Louis pulls a face. “It’s pure sugar! How can you eat that this early in the morning?”

 

Harry chuckles and steals one. He bites into it, shoots Zayn a wink and heads for the door.

 

Zayn watches him go as he nibbles past the sugar paper, his other arm still clutching the tub.

 

“Spill it, Malik,” Louis hisses and slams his hands down against the counter so hard that Zayn nearly falls off his stool. “What is going on? Why is Harry bringing you sweets and why are you staring at him like you’ve got literal hearts in your eyes? I know you like those sweets but that’s a bit much, even for you.”

 

Zayn opens his mouth to respond but doesn’t get a chance.

 

“Especially for you! A couple of weeks ago you claimed you hated him! I know I told you to play nice but if this is all an act, it’s a tad excessive.”

 

Zayn swallows the sweet. “Are you done? Because I have work to be getting on with.” He stashes his sweet tub securely behind the counter and hops off the stool.

 

“This isn’t over!” Louis yells after him as he heads to the stockroom. “You can’t keep secrets from me!”

 

***

 

Louis’ right, of course: Zayn can’t keep secrets from him. Especially not when faced by his three best mates and a row of tequila shots.

 

“This seems a little unnecessary,” Zayn says as he stares at the shots apprehensively. He’s already a couple of pints in and the lights feel bright and blinding as it is.

 

“I’m still confused. Why are we truth seruming Zayn tonight?” Liam whispers and nudges Niall.

 

The worst part is, it had been Zayn who had come up with it: if ever one of them appeared to be keeping a secret, they would be subjected to a “truth serum” to get it out of them. Truth serum being three shots of tequila followed by a shot of Patrón with a bucket nearby just in case.

 

Zayn hates when his great ideas get used against him.

 

He stares up at the three boys and sighs. He either takes the shots, inevitably spills his guts about Harry, and has to deal with their shit; or he refuses, continues to keep it a secret, and has to deal with their shit. He reaches for the first shot.

 

The alcohol goes straight to his head and by the time he hits the Patrón, he feels like he couldn’t keep it a secret if he tried.

 

“It’s Harry, okay,” he wheezes and coughs.

 

Liam lunges for the bucket but Zayn waves him off.

 

“It’s Harry.”

 

“I knew it!” Louis yells, triumphant. “I knew it from the start, I _knew_ you fancied him!”

 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up, you arse.”

 

Niall laughs. “Aw, mate. I fucking love drunk Zayn. I’ve missed you, bud.”

 

Zayn preens and slumps back in the booth.

 

“…Harry’s nickname is _Drake?”_ Louis looks somewhere between bewildered and alarmed.

 

Zayn snorts. “No, I just—I made that up. Haz’s got nothing to do with that.”

 

“ _Haz_ ,” the boys mimic.

 

Zayn frowns. “You all call him that, too, you tossers.”

 

“Does he always get like this when he’s drunk too much?” Harry appears at their booth and slips in next to Zayn. “He’s not usually so… Insulting.” He wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders. “You alright, babe?”

 

“Mmm.” Zayn leans his head into Harry’s shoulder. “Say that again.”

 

Harry looks confused. “…you alright?”

 

“The other bit,” Zayn presses.

 

“Babe?” Harry softens. “Hi, babe.”

 

Zayn sighs softly. “Once more.”

 

“Hi, babe.” Harry giggles.

 

“Liam, go pass us that bucket, this is nauseating to watch.”

 

Zayn flips Louis his middle finger. “So, hey, Haz?”

 

“Yes, babe?”

 

Zayn’s stomach does a little swoop. “Would you, like, want to go on a date with me?”

 

Harry pouts. “Turkish food doesn’t count as a date?”

 

Zayn purses his lips. “Like, an official date, though. Like a real, boyfriend-boyfriend date. Because I want you to be my boyfriend. If you’d like that. Please.”

 

“He’s so polite to _Harry_ ,” Niall comments from across the table. “Said please and everything.”

 

Zayn chooses to ignore him.

 

“I’d like that,” Harry whispers and leans in closer. It feels as though the other boys, the rest of the pub fall away at the edges. It’s a little bubble: Zayn and Harry and their bubble.

 

“And you get it, right? That I don’t want to fuck you. And I probably won’t want to. I might, but I probably won’t.”

 

Harry nods. “I get it. But I also get that you like to hold my hands—”

 

Zayn hadn’t even realised he’d entwined Harry’s fingers with his own until he looks down at them now.

 

“And I know that you like to be kissed. And I like doing those things with you, too. And I’d like to find out what other things you like doing and what you don’t.”

 

“Okay,” Zayn breathes. “So, a date, then?”

 

“Yes.” Harry hums. “But ask me again tomorrow.”

 

Zayn’s face falls. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

 

Harry chuckles and touches his fingers gently to the middle of Zayn’s cheek. “No, Zayn. Ask me again tomorrow when you’re not three shots of tequila _drunk_.”

 

Zayn blinks down at the empty glasses and then back up at Harry. “Oh. Ah. That makes sense.” He cocks his head. “Will you still say yes?”

 

Harry nods and touches their lips together lightly. “Yes.” He smiles. “I’ll always say yes.”

 

***

 

_Three weeks later_

 

Harry’s mouth taste like strawberry bubblegum.

 

Zayn pulls back and scrunches up his nose at the sweet taste.

 

“Really?” Harry looks appalled. “You eat so many flying saucers in a day that I am _amazed_ your teeth don’t fall out and you’re going to pull that face at the deliciousness that is Hubba Bubba?”

 

Harry says things like this quite often. Zayn, rather than getting into an argument about it, has found that the best way to react in such situations is just to kiss him.

 

They’ve got this part down—sufficiently capable of navigating their way through one or the other’s flats without so much as pausing to breathe. Zayn’s fingers sunk deep into Harry’s hair; almost-but-not-quite stumbling as he moves about on his tiptoes to keep pressed close to his boyfriend. Harry just clings on tight, arms wrapped around Zayn’s slim frame.

 

Zayn likes the weight of Harry’s body on top of his own. He likes the breathy sounds Harry makes and his long fingers around Zayn’s hips and the fact that he never tries to shove his hand down Zayn’s jeans.

 

“What?” Harry hovers above him. His eyelids are heavy as he blinks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

Zayn doesn’t even realise it now—the dopey smile that seems to settle onto his lips when Harry’s around. “Nothing,” he whispers. “Just. _You._ ”

 

Harry beams. He rolls onto his side on the bed but leaves one leg hooked over Zayn’s thighs. He digs a hand into the pocket of his jeans and rummages through the contents—the impossible amount of junk he manages to stuff in there.

 

Zayn curls his lip in distaste as Harry unwraps a fresh cube of bubblegum and pops it into his mouth. The sticky strawberry smell fills the air between them and Zayn pushes his face into the pillow.

 

“Zayn,” Harry whispers and smacks a loud kiss to Zayn’s ear.

 

“No.” Zayn side-eyes Harry as best as he can in this position. “Remove that atrocity from your mouth first.”

 

Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Ooh.” He stretches the bubblegum out, pushes his tongue into it, and with an incredible breath blows a very anticlimactic bubble. It hisses and pops against Harry’s lips.

 

“That’s disgusting,” Zayn tells him. “Don’t do that in my bed. That stuff is like glue.”

 

Harry sighs, put out, but presses the wad of bubblegum back into the wrapper and then puts it on the bedside table. “For later,” he says.

 

Zayn grimaces.

 

Harry wriggles in close to him and presses soft little butterfly kisses to the seam of Zayn’s lips. “It’s not so bad.”

 

Zayn sighs and leans into the heat of Harry’s lips. Strawberry tickles at his tastebuds and, well—Zayn has to admit. When Harry’s hand curls over Zayn’s jaw and he breathes into Zayn’s mouth…

 

Maybe it’s not _so_ bad.

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Shameless record store AU, somewhere between Empire Records and High Fidelity. Some more hate to love because I love it. Again, aceness and gender exploration would be neato, but no "cisswap" stuff.
> 
> I sort of veered away from the movie references and instead took inspiration from my own experiences working in a record store, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! For reference, Zayn is a sex-positive biromantic asexual. This is my first time writing an asexual character so any and all feedback would be really useful (on that, or anything else!)
> 
> xoxo


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